The Long Stretch
by Miss Romance-Lover
Summary: Stendan. What if Brendan served his 30-odd year stretch in prison and then found himself able to live out the rest of his old age as a free man?
1. Chapter 1

The Long Stretch

_Chapter One: Ste_

You're drowning in a sea of far too many people. You never did like being the centre of attention, and it's something that hasn't improved with your age.

And that's another thing. It's your birthday, and everyone closest to you _knows_ you're not a fan of this day; so _why_ have they thrown you a party?

You suspect it's down to the combined efforts of Sinead, Amy and Tony. Tony is probably only doing it in revenge for the retirement 'do' you planned for him the year before – the one that had somehow ended with a spontaneous karaoke session his twin daughters were never going to let him forget.

As for the other two, you have a feeling that Leah, Lucas and Katy had most likely put them up to it.

You look up, finally spotting the banner resting across the top of the doorway. It reads: _Happy 60__th__ Birthday Ste!_

You're on the point on tracking down the mother of your now fully grown children to ask her if that was entirely necessary, when instead you're stopped by a brightly-dressed Cheryl Tenbury-Newent. You haven't seen her for a good couple of years, but she hasn't changed in the slightest.

"Hi, love!" she gushes loudly, leaning forward to give you a peck on the cheek and a squeezing hug.

"Hiya Cheryl," you reply with a small smile. "How have you been?"

It may have been a while, but that's due only to distance and leading separate family lives. There's no animosity there; and the little you'd felt towards her when she'd moved away from Chester had evaporated a long time ago. You're too old now to let the decision of one man taint a friendship you'd still be lost without.

Cheryl smiles back, but there's something more behind her eyes. She looks _more_ than just happy to be catching up with an old friend. "Oh, I'm good thank ye! Nate's around here too somewhere. Polite old sod insists on greeting every bloody guest he passes! Happy birthday, by the way!"

"Thanks." You want to find out the gossip on what's got her looking so sprightly these days, but she rushes off before you can – leaving behind a promise to come back to you with Nate in tow.

Amy's arrival at your side stops you from dwelling any further. "Having fun?" she asks jovially.

You turn to look at her. This is a woman who has aged gracefully; far better than you have. Her hair is short but trendy for her age, somewhat reminiscent of a hair style from a different time. Her eyes shine with excitement as she surveys the packed room.

"Being sent to live in a nursing home might have been a better present," you reply, voice completely deadpan. Inside you're starting to soften, however.

"Well it wasn't _my_ idea anyway!" she shoots back, then points at Leah. It seems this idea had unfolded just as you predicted.

"What's up over here?" Leah has noticed her parents' eyes on her, and she's over to you both in a flash. Your teenage granddaughter - her daughter Lilly - follows close behind her. _Damn_. You don't like to appear the grumpy old git in front of your grand-kids.

"Your father isn't a fan of surprise parties. Or parties in general – I think that was the gist of it, wasn't it Steven?"

You jolt inwardly at the use of your full name. Even now, it still has some sort of affect on you. But you won't moan about it. Amy has only ever called you that when she's being firm with you – there was only _one_ person that never called you anything else.

"Oh Dad," Leah says now, giving you a look that makes her look so much like her mother that it makes you grin despite yourself. "Stop being so boring!"

You shake your head and roll your eyes, then address your response to Lilly. "Not sure what these two are talking about, are you Lils? I've never had a boring day in my life!"

Your granddaughter laughs with you, and Amy and Leah wander off shaking their own heads in mock exasperation.

After another hour, you hate to admit it but you're enjoying yourself. You've spent most of your time chatting with your family. Having grown up to be a chip off the old block, Lucas has done most of the food here, and for the past decade he's been helping you run the very same restaurant this party is being held in.

You manage to catch up with Tony and his wife Diane. You tell the older man you're already planning how you can embarrass him on his next birthday. Meanwhile both Sinead and Katy seem to be just as guilty as Leah in the art of party-planning.

You refuse to say as much, but you love them all for it. That is, based on the assumption that they'd done all this to make you happy and _not _to torture you.

And despite the initial reservations, you're having fun watching all the guests milling around, getting drunk and singing along to the music. _Them_, that is, not you.

It's not until the night's almost over that Cheryl finds you again. Nate strides on ahead of her and offers his hand for you to shake. You try not to laugh – after all, you're an old man now and this should probably be the norm for you. But inside you're still that scally who wouldn't know posh if it tapped you on the shoulder.

Even so, you do the polite thing and shake the man's hand. "Nice to see you again, mate."

"And you, Ste. Happy birthday."

Cheryl practically stumbles forward and pulls you into a tight embrace. Quite predictably one of the drunken singers of the evening, then, you muse.

"I've really missed ye, babe," she hiccups over your shoulder.

You chuckle at her. "I've missed you too, Chez."

Most of the guests are starting to head off now, but besides these two it's only the ones who are staying to help tidy up that you're bothered about saying goodbye to. So you stay put and carry on chatting for a bit.

"Brendan's missed ye, too."

It takes you a minute to process that sentence; that name that you've had to avoid thinking about for almost forty years. She _can't_ have just said that to you, it makes no sense. Not anymore.

"What?"

Nate has realised the seriousness of his wife's offhand comment, and looking at Cheryl now you can see that she either wishes she could start the conversation again, or else just avoid it altogether.

"I'm sorry, love, I..."

"Cheryl, what's going on? You've spoken to him? He's...he's mentioned me?" The words sound so pained and yet so desperate from your lips. You had hoped that the decades had made you emotionally stronger, but now you know that this theory was a load of rubbish. When it comes to the man you're talking about now, you've only ever been weak for him.

She's shaking her head at you now, and you don't understand anything she's trying to get across. She'd already lost you at the mere mention of Brendan's name.

"Please, just tell me what you're on about!"

The woman looks impossibly happy _and_ sad at the same time when she finally drops the bombshell.

"He's been released, Ste. Brendan's out of prison."


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two: Brendan_

You'd expected to die on the inside. You had accepted it long ago, the same way you'd accepted that your future with Steven was never going to happen.

So when you'd been told, after serving nearly thirty-seven years in prison, that you were going to be released; well, it had scared you. You weren't sure you could function in the real world anymore. It was too late to salvage what was left of your life, and you knew it.

By the time the day arrived, and those doors opened to let you out, you had got your head around the fact that when you finally took your last breath, it would be as a free man.

As for everything else, every_one_ else; you hadn't even begun to comprehend it.

* * *

"What are ye doing with yourself, Brendan?"

Cheryl's tone is full of concern, and in truth you're thankful to have her, because it's not as if there was ever going to be anyone else waiting for you on the other side of the prison doors.

If only she would stop asking you questions; endless questions that you just don't know how to answer, even if you wanted to.

"Hmm?" You do what you've done repeatedly for the last few days, every time she's come to see you at the hotel. You pretend you're not paying attention.

She sighs in that impatient way of hers, and now you look at her and see that as she's aged, the guilt she feels over you has grown with her. It's there in her eyes as she speaks, even as she's exasperated with you. "I'm asking ye what ye are doing with your life," she states bluntly.

_Existing_, is what you want to say back, because that's all this is: an existence. You're sitting in a posh hotel room in Ireland until you find somewhere suitable and permanent to live, paid for with the money from the sale of the club you'd owned in Chester when you were still relatively young. Money that until a few days ago, had been kept safe for you by Cheryl. You're living comfortably until you 'find your feet' as she had called it. You've got all the material possessions you need – but inside you're empty.

You want to say all this to her. You want to tell your sister how much you long to make things right with your sons, even though it's been nearly forty years since either of them laid eyes on you and any connection you once had was severed long before that.

You want to tell her how desperate you are to do the same thing with Steven, even though that's more of a lost cause than Declan and Padraig.

But you can't bear to make her feel worse, so you don't say any of it.

"I'm doing fine, Chez. Tomorrow I'm going skydiving, and then I might even treat myself to a new tattoo." You grin at her, but you know the smile won't reach your eyes.

"Always a sarcastic sod, even now you're an old man," she shakes her head, then reaches out to touch your arm. "Bren, you're _alive_. And you're free. Ye need to start _living_. Listen, Nate and I are going back to Chester next weekend. Why don't ye come with us?"

You give her a sharp look. How on earth she can think that returning to that village could be a good idea is beyond you.

"Why don't I come?" you repeat, incredulous. "Let's make a list of reasons, shall we? I don't even get why _you'd_ want to go back there, let alone me."

Cheryl is quiet for a while, and then when she finally speaks again her voice wavers. "It's Ste's birthday. His family are throwing him a party."

She winces when she reaches the end of her sentence, and it takes you a further minute to realise what it is she's said, besides Steven's name, that she's feeling awkward about.

_His family_. The one that doesn't include you. It almost had, once upon a time when you were so close to building something rock solid.

The thing is, while you'd once promised Steven a 'proper family', deep down you know that any real chance you had of doing that was lost the moment you'd lashed out at him in that last week before your arrest.

You haven't considered yourself a part of the man's family for more than half of your own lifetime.

You _want_ to see him; of course you do. You're not going to go, though. You knew there'd be no going back when you made your decision as a young man, and you're too old to start anything now. You love him too much to disrupt his life again.

So when you say goodbye to Cheryl without saying another word on the subject, you hope she doesn't bring it up again - for your own sanity if nothing else.

After some thought, you spend the following week psyching yourself up to write letters to your sons, which you eventually manage to do. You give them to your sister, who promises to pass them on for you. The day before heading back to your old home-town, she comes to see you again, insisting that you stay at the house she shares with Nate to 'house-sit' for the weekend. It's clear that she won't let it rest until you agree, so with a sigh you pack two days' worth of clothes and go back there with her.

On the day of your release she had been desperate to have you to stay; had wanted to look after you the way you'd always looked after her, she said. But you'd wanted your own space – had craved it after all those years of sharing a cell.

"Bren?" Cheryl asks before you say goodnight. "Those letters ye wrote for Deccy and Paddy...are ye sure ye don't want to write one for Ste too? I mean, I'm seeing him tomorrow and-"

"No," you cut her off before she can finish the thought, because you can't handle what it might be like to imagine it. "I let him go a long time ago. I have no right to push my way back into his life after all this time. Just leave it be, Chez."

She gives you a sad smile but doesn't push the matter further, and you send her and her husband off the next morning with a hollow feeling deep in your chest.

* * *

You spend the entire weekend thinking of him. You feel ridiculous; a seventy year old man longing for another so desperately. When you were locked up it was easier to bear, because you _couldn't_ have him, no matter how much you wanted him.

But now that you're free and he's out there, the pain of living without him is fresher than ever. It plays with your mind, tries to convince you that you _could_ be with him again even when you know you can't.

On the day that Cheryl and Nate are due back from Chester you spend the whole morning cleaning and tidying up after yourself, partly to stop yourself from thinking. You don't stop until you get a text saying they're ten minutes away from home.

When you hear Nate's car reversing up the driveway you go and open the door for them, bracing yourself for the inevitable tales of party antics and gossip from the village, and maybe even news about _him_.

You're sat on the sofa when the front door clicks shut, and you're more than a bit surprised when you're greeted by silence rather than your little sister's loud, over-excited voice.

Then you look over and you understand why.

Standing there in front of them is the man you haven't set eyes on in almost four decades.

Steven is _here_.

His hair is a beautiful silver, and face has lines to mark his age, but he's still the man you love.

You can't move. You're terrified, and you don't know whether it's because he's here or because actually, you might be dreaming.

"Brendan."

You draw in a sharp breath at the sound of his voice, and then you know it's real.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter Three _**

_Part 1: Ste_

You can't take this in; you just can't process it.

_Brendan's out of prison._

It had only taken those few words to make you realise what you'd really achieved in terms of 'moving on' - papering over the cracks. And now the wound had been ripped open again, fresh to fill with more of _him_.

You must look a state, because Leah comes running over, fussing over you and leading you over to a chair as Cheryl looks on worriedly.

"Dad? You've gone pale, what's happened?"

You're still lost for words. Your daughter's voice alerts Amy, Sinead and the rest of those you're closest to, and they all come rushing to your side.

"I'm sorry, Ste, I never wanted to upset ye..." Cheryl trails off when you hold up a hand to cut her off. You're not sure that 'upset' is the word.

You're numb. That's it; just _numb_.

Never one to wait around patiently, Amy turns to Cheryl to demand answers. "What's this all about?"

You look at Nate and manage to catch his eye with a slight shake of your head. You're not ready to let this news out to your family yet – least of all Amy.

"Why don't I help you guys tidy up while Ste and Cheryl catch up?" the man announces brightly, ushering everyone away as swiftly as he can. You can still feel Amy and Leah's eyes on you from a distance as they reluctantly agree to the instruction, but this is for the best. Now that you've been told the most vital piece of news about Brendan, you need to know more.

You can't let it go, even though common sense tells you that you should let things lie.

Your voice is small when you finally speak again. You're not even sure you're capable of constructing a full sentence, so you start with the first question that comes to mind. "When?"

She doesn't need to ask what you mean. "Last week."

_Last week. _Everything about this conversation is repeating itself inside your head, waiting for you to grasp it's meaning. Brendan has been free for over a week and you'd had no idea. You hate that it still matters to you, but you hate that you've been in the dark even more.

"Where is he?"

Cheryl's stricken face clears into a tentative smile. "Ireland."

You hadn't expected anything different, really; but considering she had broached the subject by telling you that her brother misses you, something inside you had expected more from Brendan. If he misses you that much, then why isn't he here telling you himself?

It suddenly feels like the last few minutes have been a complete waste of your time. Brendan's been brought back into your life, and now you can't get him out of your head - despite the fact that he's not given you any direct impression that he still cares.

"I need some air."

You stand up, and Cheryl has to take a step back as you walk past her and head through to the back door. You cast a look in everyone's direction, aiming to make sure that they don't follow you. When you get outside to the staff smoking area, your back hits the wall. You can't support the weight of your body while your head is in such a mess.

You drag yourself over to a chair and slump into it like a dead weight.

"Uncle Ste?"

You look up moments later to find Katy watching you with concern in her eyes. She'd dropped the 'Uncle' title years ago when she'd reached adulthood, but every now and then, whenever she's upset or when you need to hear it, the sentiment returns to remind you how much you're loved.

You smile at your god-daughter, but she knows you well; knows it's only a front for whatever it is that's bothering you.

"Cheryl in there...she's Brendan's sister, right?"

That throws you. Katy _had _been around to hear your heart-to-heart chats with her mother back in the day – in the first few years after you'd finally faced up to losing the love of your life. But not once have you discussed any of it with her. You won't even talk about Brendan with your son and daughter, let alone someone else who's never met him.

But now it occurs to you that this might be a good thing. You want to be left alone, and yet at the same time you're tempted to confide in someone completely impartial to every part of this messed up situation.

Amy has always hated Brendan. Leah will only remember him as the 'hairy man' who took her bug-hunting and read her stories as a little girl. Lucas has only the faintest of memories of the man, and naturally it's something that his mother hasn't encouraged. Tony and Sinead know enough about Brendan to judge him; but they also know how much he meant to you – how much he _still_ means to you.

And then there's Cheryl; someone who, like you once did, knows everything there is to know about Brendan Brady. There's no doubt in your mind that she wants to put things right, to make up for lost time between you and him. But you won't be pushed.

You return your gaze to Katy. "Yeah," you reply. "She is."

"Do you still think about him?"

An honest answer would be no, because ever since you picked yourself up all those years ago you'd never _let_ yourself think about him. Now, though, he is all you can think about. There doesn't seem to be room for anything else.

You let out a shaky breath, and Katy can see that she doesn't need to hear your answer.

"I've never seen you like this, you know," she comments now, and you dwell on the fact that this is only because you'd long since finished with all your bouts of self-pity by the time she was old enough to hear them. "I mean, I've seen you when you're unhappy but _this_...Mum always said that this guy broke your heart."

You feel like you should be angry with Sinead, but instead you find yourself smirking. "Oh, did she now?"

Katy ignores your attempt to lighten the conversation. "So are you just going to stay out here and mope, or are you going to do something about it?"

"I'm too old to mope! And what exactly are you suggesting?"

"Go and talk to him!" she orders, with the same mix of fieriness and bossiness her mum possesses. "Tell him everything. _Shout_ at the man if you have to. Just make sure that when you walk away, _if _you walk away from him, then you can say you don't have any regrets this time."

She reaches over to give your hand a squeeze, and when she leaves you to head back inside you're left to ponder her advice for all of thirty seconds before you're joined by Cheryl.

"She's a smart one, that girl," she remarks, offering you a small smile. "I'm sorry love, I know I'm probably the last person ye want to see when ye need a bit of peace, but I just wanted to come and say goodbye. Nate and I are heading back to the hotel now."

She looks awkward and uncomfortable after the way the party has ended, and you feel a pang of guilt. None of this is her fault, really. It's not _her_ fault Brendan took matters into his own hands and took a part of your future away with it; or that in doing so he made sure his sister could have hers.

"I'm sorry," you tell her. "I shouldn't have stormed out like that."

"I don't blame ye, Ste. I'm the one who should be sorry, blurting out news like that without warning. It was the wrong time and place, and the whole thing has certainly sobered me up, I can tell ye."

Cheryl hesitates, her face betraying that she'd like to say more, but instead she steps forward to hug you goodbye. You stand to meet her embrace, and by the time she pulls away you've realised that you can't leave things as they are.

"When are you leaving Chester?" you ask before she can turn away.

Her face doesn't change, and it occurs to you that it probably sounds as though you can't wait for her to go.

"In the morning."

You make your decision then and there. _Forget_ the fact that Brendan hasn't come to find you. Forget that he's just finished a long stretch in prison and is hiding away in Ireland. He's not getting any peace and quiet in his old age until you've had it out with him.

You still love Brendan, but you hate him at the same time; and now thirty-seven years later he's going to hear about it.

Your family comes outside to find you just in time to hear you utter the words.

"Cheryl, can I come back to Ireland with you?"

* * *

_Part 2: Brendan_

Steven isn't moving. The second he said your name it was like time stood still, and although you're willing yourself to move you find that your legs just won't work.

"Steven..."

You trail off, the million words you want to say getting stuck in your dry throat.

Cheryl clears her throat as she and Nate move from behind him, and you suddenly remember that you're in _their_ house, and that contrary to how you've been feeling for the last few seconds, you and Steven are not the only two people in the room.

"We'll head out for some lunch and leave the two of ye to talk," she announces. It makes you feel uncomfortable. You don't know how you're going to be alone with him again for the first time in so long.

It scares you.

"Ye don't have to do that..."

"Yes I do," Cheryl cuts in, her voice small but full of conviction as she steers Nate back out of the front door. "I _really _do. Come on, love." Her husband smiles sheepishly at you before doing as he's told.

The door clicks shut behind them, and this is it. The moment you thought you'd never experience. What the hell are you going to say to him?

Deciding that having the ability to move might be a good start, you finally get to your feet. You can feel yourself shaking. You glance his way; he's still frozen in place.

You take a few steps towards him, but stop short of going within touching distance of him. Steven has a look in his eyes that tells you that if you even dared to try, you'd regret it.

"So you're out, then."

There's so much hidden beneath that obvious statement and you both know it. You know what he's really saying; what he really means. It's all there in the way that he says the words.

_Didn't get in touch though, did you?_

_I had to hear about it through your sister._

_Did you even give me a second thought? _

You long to make him understand that continuing to leave him be was something you _had_ to do to protect him from any more pain. An even bigger part of you longs to wrap him in your arms and never let him go again.

Then you remind yourself how long ago it was that you last had the right to do that and you feel like a stupid, pathetic old man.

As a result, you answer Steven's remark with a one-worded answer that gives nothing away.

All you say is, "yeah."

He surprises you by laughing, only it's a bitter sound without an ounce of humour. "Are you trying to make me hate you even more? Because honestly Brendan, that's not possible. I reached my limit a _very_ long time ago."

"Then why are ye here?"

That's the real question, and your broaching of the subject doesn't bring an answer any quicker. You watch as Steven's face closes down right before your eyes – his eyes dead and vacant as he drops down into one of the chairs nearby.

You return to your own seat and, when you can't bear the silence for a moment longer, you blurt out the next thing that comes to mind.

"How are Leah and Lucas?"

He looks like he wants to throw something at you for even daring to mention their names.

"It's a bit late to ask after them now, isn't it?" comes his scathing response.

"Yes. But seeing as ye are here, I'm asking anyway."

Steven looks down at his hands, seems to while away another minute studying them. He doesn't look up when he answers you, but you see his whole body deflate as he gives up the argument. "They're both doing really well. Married with kids of their own, careers, the lot."

You smile to yourself at that. You were a second daddy to them once upon a time, and it gives you some happiness to know how they've turned out. Somehow you don't think Steven wants nor needs your opinion on the subject, though.

"And how are _ye_?"

His eyes find yours again now, and there's a fire in them that you've missed more than life outside the prison walls, even though he's angry with you.

"I was fine," he replies in a strange, flat voice. "I was doing _fine_ until I found out about _you_."

"Ye were happy?" It's not an accusation; it's a hope. It's what you've always wanted for him. The thing is, Steven has yet to actually use the word 'happy'. 'Fine' just isn't anywhere near enough what he deserves.

Once again, he turns his face away from you. It's then that you know he isn't going to answer your question, because he can't give you a straight answer.

"I came here to shout at you," he announces instead, and you let out an ill-advised laugh at the bluntness of the statement. It isn't news to you – you hadn't expected anything else upon him turning up here. But it's so far from the calm, collected way in which he's talking that it's comical, somehow.

You'd forgotten what it felt like to laugh, but a short while alone with this man and it's all come back to you; the life you could have had with him. Memories filled with laughter and light instead of darkness and the same four walls, day in and day out.

"So why aren't ye shouting at me?" You ask, recovering yourself from your thoughts.

"I'm just too tired," Steven says softly, running a hand through his silver hair. "I'm tired of feeling like this _all_ the time. I'm too old to be giving myself a heart attack stressing out over you _again_." He lets out a deep sigh. "I shouldn't have come here."

He stands up, and panic floods through you again as you get to your feet too. Only this time it isn't because he's _here_, but because you're going to lose him all over again.

"Steven wait, I know ye haven't come all this way just to say that. Ye can't leave like this."

He doesn't turn around as he heads to the door, and suddenly you're hit with a vivid flashback of the first time you told him you loved him, nearly forty years ago. He'd been standing at the front door then, too, and you'd stopped him leaving with those three little words.

Nothing about your feelings had changed from that day to this one.

"I love ye," you say now. "Please don't leave me again."

He turns around, and there are tears in his eyes but the expression on his face is so defiant that you think that, as promised, he's finally going to shout at you. But he doesn't.

"I never left you, Brendan," Steven tells you, his voice cracking as he says your name. "It was you that pushed me out of your life. I begged you not to do it; I told you how much I loved you but it wasn't enough to stop _you _from leaving me. So don't you dare ask me to stay. I don't owe you anything."

You nod, closing your eyes and waiting for the sound of the door opening and then slamming shut. It never comes.

"But I still love you, too."

**A/N: More to come...**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four **_

_~ Ste ~_

You had pictured what he might look like now, but seeing him in the flesh makes you realise that you weren't fully prepared for it. He looks his age; he looks drained, and his once brunette mop of hair is now white, as is his trademark moustache.

In theory he's a whole world away from the man he was when he left you behind. And yet the second your eyes meet his you have the overwhelming feeling that you've come _home_.

It does nothing to change all the other reasons you had for coming to see him, but it does make you momentarily forget them.

You blurt out his name on instinct, shutting your mouth the instant it leaves your lips. After that, Cheryl leaves with her husband and you start things off by confronting him over the obvious.

It doesn't take long for the conversation to get heated, and now, just as you're trying to leave, he stops you with the three words that always ruin any chance you have of moving on.

"I love ye," Brendan is saying, his tone desperate. "Please don't leave me again."

You turn to face him and you will yourself not to cry. You won't let him see you break down.

"I never left you, Brendan," You reply. "It was _you_ that pushed me out of your life. I begged you not to do it; I told you how much I loved you but it wasn't enough to stop _you _from leaving _me_. So don't you dare ask me to stay. I don't owe you anything."

He closes his eyes as if in defeat, and you know that this should be the moment in which you walk out.

"But I still love you, too."

* * *

You hadn't planned to say it. Maybe you thought you could end this meeting with those words and have it be the end.

But this is Brendan Brady, and you can't declare your love for him all over again and then just walk away.

You stand there watching as he opens his eyes. He looks dazed, like he thinks he might be dreaming. If he thinks you're going to repeat yourself, he's mistaken.

"Steven, I..."

"Don't say anything," you cut him off. "Please just...don't."

His face clears, his expression blank. "If I stop talking, will ye stay?"

You're still angry, but at the same time it aches inside to see him so vulnerable. It must have taken a lot to make Brendan beg, so you relent and move away from the door.

You are the one with the power here, and yet you feel uneasy. Everything about this is so fragile, and it won't take much more to make you break.

But this silence is killing you.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd been released?" you blurt out before your brain has the chance to think it through. "I don't get it – you got so panicky when I tried to leave just now, but if I hadn't come here with Cheryl, you wouldn't have even bothered with me."

Just minutes ago, you were insisting that he keep quiet; but now you need answers.

And Brendan looks at you in such a way that suddenly you wish you could get a glimpse inside his head. He looks like a child who's just been told their favourite television programme has been cancelled - only worse.

"Is that really what ye think? That I ignored ye because I'd stopped caring? Or that I'd forgotten ye?"

You don't answer. It's obvious you don't need to confirm that this was exactly what you were thinking.

"I told ye to stay away when I got put inside so ye could live a better life without me. I wasn't planning on messing it all up by getting in touch after all this time."

_A better life. _The words roll around your head, almost mocking you. Because yeah, your life was _so_ much better the moment he left it. As if Brendan's absence had been able to erase your feelings for him.

It _should _have been better, after all the grief he'd caused you; but it just didn't work out that way. You were in self-destruction mode for the first few months, until something worse happened and you finally had to get your act together.

"Do you honestly think that all my problems back then revolved around you? If you think my life just fell into place after you went – if you're using that to ease any guilt - then you're fooling yourself."

He seems to be able to detect something in your voice. He knows the sarcasm is about more that just how you coped with his loss. Something big happened that he's not been privy to, and you can see he's worked that much out just by the look he's giving you.

"Tell me," Brendan demands in a gentle voice, and for half a second you're tempted to. It's not exactly a secret, not back in the village anyway; but you've never even shared this part of your past with Cheryl, and telling Brendan isn't something you feel ready for. It's a subject that carries far too much weight than you can cope with today.

So instead you confess something less traumatic.

"I went back to dealing for a while."

You feel like a fraud as a father when you say this – and as a grandfather. The sixty year old man you are now just doesn't fit with the cocky, drug-dealing idiot you were twice over in your younger years.

Confessing to it provokes another memory for you, and it's one that's written all over Brendan's face in shock and disbelief.

You're a hypocrite.

"Steven..._drugs_? After everything ye..."

"Yes, I know," you stop him, unable to hear him say the words.

_After everything you said back then._

Once upon a time, you had made this man promise you that his involvement in anything dodgy was over for good. And for his part, despite what had been thrown at him towards the end, Brendan had at least kept his promise on that front.

The thoughts going through your head are conflicting. You feel embarrassed at the reminder that you went down that dark road a second time. You _had_ had a choice, after all - you'd had your own business. But at the time you were just too broken to appreciate what you had.

The other part of you – the angry part – resents the fact that Brendan is standing here judging you. He lost the right to any opinion the second he cut you out of his life.

"Why?" he's asking you now. His voice is weak; he sounds as though he's struggling to cope with the things you've put inside his head.

You wonder if the way he's feeling matches even a fraction of the turmoil going on inside your own the day you were ripped away from him.

It's this that makes you answer him flippantly, not caring how pathetic it sounds coming from a man of your age. "Why _not_?"

He sighs heavily and drops down into a chair. "This doesn't make sense."

"Neither does confessing to a crime you didn't commit, but you still did _that_, didn't you?"

Brendan ignores you. "Cheryl never said anything..."

"Yeah well, Cheryl doesn't know the half of it," you reply in a flat voice.

"What is it, Steven? What don't we know?"

You shake your head at him, that anger bubbling to the surface yet again. "You're so desperate to get some control back, aren't you?" You sneer at him. You're aware that you don't sound anything like yourself. "You just _have_ to know everything. Never mind all those letters and visiting requests I sent, begging you to let _me_ back in."

He squeezes his eyes shut for the second time since your arrival, and you know you could stop there but you don't want to. You want to hurt him. Decades of bottled up frustration is spilling out of you at too fast a rate to care.

"Well let's see if your sister told you _this_: me and Doug got back together."

When his face twists in pain you know your words have fulfilled their intention, but it doesn't make you feel any better for it. And Brendan's response is a world away from the emotions written all over his features.

"I'm happy for ye."

Suddenly the spite is knocked out of you, and you feel a pang of guilt for using Doug's name in this way. "He's been dead for seventeen years," you inform Brendan, looking at the floor.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"I am. I'd never be glad about anything that caused ye pain."

And it _had_ been hard, losing Doug. You'd loved him too; and he'd stayed by your side for years, been your friend and stopped you from being lonely. Deep down of course, in your heart of hearts, you had longed to be with Brendan. But a life with Doug had promised stability, and it had served you well until he'd passed away after battling cancer.

You miss him, of course you do. But in brutal honesty you didn't love him as deeply as he loved you. His death hadn't threatened to destroy you the way you know Brendan's would have; instead it had brought loneliness back to your door. Your kids had been all grown up with their own lives to lead by then, and once again you had found yourself waking up alone in an empty flat. It had taken you right back to the days after Brendan's arrest.

When you'd grieved for Doug, it had been purely for selfish reasons. Your grief for Brendan hadn't just been about losing the man himself to prison, but also the loss of a future that had once been so close that it was within touching distance.

You may not be allowing yourself to get worked up over it, but you certainly won't be forgetting the hell you went through over him.

"What else?" Brendan's voice reminds you that he was in the middle of interrogating you.

"No. That's enough. I'm not playing along with this any more."

"With what?"

"You, trying to keep a conversation going when it's all just pointless. I've said what I came here to say. Just because I can't stop loving you doesn't mean there's still something between us."

He doesn't get up, just watches you, waiting again for you to edge back towards the door. You haven't moved yet.

"If that's true, Steven, then why bother coming here at all? Ye can be as angry as ye like with me, but that only proves there _is _something there. It's not going to go away just because ye turned up to give me a few home truths."

He's right. You hate him for it, but there it is.

"Whatever. I don't care." Except that you _do_ care, and you sound sulkier with every sentence. "Just forget I was ever here, Brendan."

This time, when you turn and walk out of the house, he doesn't utter a word.

Despite yourself, in a stupid, confusing sort of way you wish he would come after you.

* * *

_~ Brendan ~_

He still loves you.

You're not deluded enough to think it's that simple – the man's head must be in a mess - but it's a comfort to hear those words after all this time.

And then, minutes later, finding out that Steven had gone back to Douglas after your imprisonment cuts straight through you. You don't want to believe it, but then what gives you the right to be put out by the news? He had been ready and willing to stand by you until you had taken the choice away from him. You'd wanted him to live his life, and that's what he'd done, as best as he could.

In all these years you've never let yourself dwell on the thought of Steven being with another man, but you'd known it was happening, because how could it not?

But funnily enough, you'd never entertained the idea that he would reunite with the yank. It's probably just as well, because had you known, you would have been obsessing over it for the rest of your prison sentence.

You force yourself to tell him you're happy for him, but of course what you really mean is that you're happy if _he_ is. And surely he wouldn't have come to see you if he is?

The revelation that Douglas is dead soon sheds some light on that front. You wonder whether you'd ever have seen Steven again had his husband still been alive.

He won't be quizzed any more after what he's already confessed about the drug-pushing, and then when he dismisses his feelings for you, you try one last time to make him see that you'll _always_ be connected to each other.

You can see in his eyes that he knows, but still he walks out. You stop yourself from running after him, because surely it won't help when he doesn't seem to have a clue what he wants.

When the door opens some minutes later, you almost jump. You were too absorbed in self-pity to consider that your sister would be back eventually.

"Brendan? Ye alone?"

_Yes_. And you suppose you should be used to it by now. You've been alone for years, why should today feel any different?

_Because Steven was here; had dangled a slither of hope in front of you and then disappeared so quickly that you'd be forgiven for thinking it was all in your mind._

You look up to meet Cheryl's gaze, but it's not just Nate that's returned alongside her. She seems to have developed a habit of springing surprise visitors on you. The younger man that's standing in the doorway has your eyes, and they're staring over at you in quiet, appraising wonder.

You instantly get to your feet. "Declan?"

You have to question it out loud, even though there's no need to. That's your eldest boy over there, only he no longer fits that particular title in his sharp suit and tie. He's done well for himself, has Deccy – even if Cheryl hadn't been keeping him up to date, that much would be obvious.

"What happened to Ste?" Your sister asks casually, as if she hasn't just turned up with your estranged son in tow. Besides that, you want to gesture to the emptiness around you and glare at how obvious the answer to her question is. Steven's _gone, _that's what's happened. You're going to have to focus your energy on your son now. Not that you don't want to, of course.

"Ste was here?" Declan chimes in, his voice laced with surprise but not an ounce of displeasure. You look him over for a second time and feel that old paternal warmth wash over you.

Neither you or Cheryl answer him. While Nate flits past you all to head into the kitchen, she suddenly comes alive, remembering the importance of her nephew's presence here.

"We bumped into Deccy in town," she explains, starting with the obvious. "He read your letter and well, I asked him to come back and see ye. I did think it might be a bit awkward with Ste here too, mind, but..." she trails off at her friend's absence. "Is he coming back later?"

Bless her heart, maybe she actually thinks it went _that_ well.

"No, he isn't."

Cheryl goes so pale that you now realise she genuinely hadn't foreseen any flaw in her plan to leave you and Steven alone 'to talk'. She looks incapable of finding words, like her guilt about the past is increasing ten-fold by the second.

It's Declan who breaks the silence, which is unexpected but much better than the possibility of an oblivious Nate strolling back into the lounge with the tea tray.

"Go after him."

You wonder whether you've misheard. "What?"

"I said, go after him, Dad." _Dad. _You've not heard the word since you were younger than he is now, and it gives you back a small amount of confidence. You don't deserve it, but here he is offering it to you. It makes you feel like you made the wrong decision in letting Steven leave you, if even this person you've let down more times than you can count thinks you should fight for him.

"But what about..." you wave your hand around the space between you; father and son. "There are things to say. There's _a lot_ to say."

"I'll still be around for that," Declan informs you. His voice is patient, but there's an undertone there that suggests he won't be doing any of this lightly. You won't be getting away with anything when the time for discussion arrives.

But it's the promise of his words that you cling to.

"Go," he orders you again.

A surge of adrenaline rushes through your seventy year old body as you nod, slipping past the both of them and out to follow your heart.

Your feet know exactly where you have to go even before your brain does.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five**_

_~ Ste ~_

You're amazed at yourself for managing to find it.

The last time you'd been here, the place had been easier to find because you'd been right in the heart of Dublin. Today you had found the nearest coach station, intending to get yourself to the airport. Instead, in a moment of madness, you ended up hopping on the first bus you saw and found yourself heading back to the city you've not been anywhere near since _that_ day. The day that Brendan had cemented his place in your heart for good - just in case he hadn't been there already.

Now you stand in the middle of this bridge and wonder how you can have felt so lost and broken the last time, when at least _then_, you still had your youth.

You remember everything so clearly. You'd been leaning against the railings in this exact spot, feeling like the world's biggest idiot for flying all the way from Liverpool to Ireland to take another chance on _him_. You had glanced around at all the couples strolling along together, growing more and more miserable by the second.

And then Brendan had appeared before you.

That isn't going to happen today, though. And even if you're wrong, and it does; it won't be as simple as it was the last time. Last time, although you'd made him work for it, in the end all it had really taken was an "I love ye, Steven".

Then again, your only purpose on that trip had been to see him; to be with him and to build a proper relationship with him. The reason for _this_ visit was to rid yourself from years of pain that _he_ had been the cause of.

At least, that was how it had started.

You're supposed to go home now. It's the only thing to do. There's nothing else here for you.

So why does it feel like leaving Ireland means leaving behind _everything_?

After a few more minutes you become aware of the fact that you are now the only person here. A pathetic, lonely looking old man standing on what is arguably the most sentimental bridge in the United Kingdom.

It hurts to tear yourself away from it, as though this is you saying a silent goodbye to a beautiful memory. You feel like you're letting it all go as you walk down the steps and back towards the city.

It had never truly been over before, this link between you and Brendan. But it is now.

Your phone rings just as you're taking that in, and you get it from your pocket to find that it's Leah calling.

"Dad?"

It takes you a moment to find your voice again. "Yeah?"

"Are you alright?"

"'Course." Even as you answer her you can hear how silly it sounds. She must think you're having a nervous breakdown. You probably _are_.

"Have you seen him?"

"Who?"

Leah sighs. "Keith Duffy. Who do you think, Dad? Brendan!"

You remember the last time your daughter mentioned his name to you. She was six years old and had given his name to one of the ducks in the pond back home.

Now here she is, asking you about Brendan so casually it's almost as though you've spent your whole life talking about him.

"Yes," you answer. "I saw him."

"And?"

"And what, Leah?"

The line goes quiet. She must be able to sense that you're not going to give her straight answer.

"You still there?" you ask after a moment too long, suddenly regretting your attitude. Especially now that there's a chance you'll be left to your own devices again.

"Well I'm not going to hang up on my old man, am I?" she chuckles, and you smile to yourself.

"I just needed a bit of time to clear my head," you offer by way of an explanation for your flippancy. "I'll head home soon."

"Okay," Leah says gently. "Listen, Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"You _are_ loved. By loads of people. You do know that, don't you?"

It's then that you know she's made her own assumptions about what went on between you and Brendan. You may have made it obvious that things didn't go well with him, but being loved is not the issue. It never has been.

You know he meant it when he told you he loved you today. It's that small fact that made walking away so much more painful.

There are tears in your eyes as you carry on walking. "I know," you tell her. "I know."

* * *

_~ Brendan ~_

It takes longer than you'd hoped to reach the bridge, and when you do you feel ridiculous.

He's not there. Why were you stupid enough to think that he would be?

You stand there for a long while, just thinking. You've had so many 'too little, too late' moments when it comes to Steven, but this time there's a finality to it that's never quite hit home before.

It's really over.

He could still be nearby, but then if he'd wanted to be found he would have been here, and you know it.

There's something else nagging at you, though. You just don't believe that he travelled all this way for a confrontation and nothing more. He told you he still _loves_ you, for God's sake.

Even if he clearly hadn't meant to say it.

A wave of grief overwhelms you, and something incoherent falls from your mouth. It takes a further minute for you to realise it was a sob.

You need to pull yourself together. You have a son waiting for you back at Cheryl's, a chance to salvage at least one broken relationship in your life. It's time to get a grip. You have no other choice.

Twenty minutes later and you're almost at the house. When your phone rings, you're so certain it's your sister that you answer it without checking.

"I'm on my way back, Chez, just-"

"Brendan?"

The female voice on the line isn't Cheryl's. You can't quite place it yet, but instinct is telling you that you know this person.

"Yes?"

There's a pause, and then: "this is Leah."

You freeze in place on the pavement. Suddenly you can't speak. She seems to take your silence as a memory lapse.

"Ste's daughter?" she presses, then corrects herself in a thoughtful voice. "_Steven's_?"

She genuinely remembers you. It's there in her voice, the way she spoke of your own personal name for her father.

"I know who ye are, Leah," you reply gently. "I was just a bit shocked there for a minute, that's all."

"Oh. Right. Well, I'm sorry to call so out of the blue. I just got your number from Cheryl."

Her voice rises in confidence by the time she's explained, and you try to picture what she must look like now. All you can see in your head is that blonde little girl in pigtails, hiding underneath your office desk during the last conversation you ever shared with her.

"How are...things?" You cringe at how awkward you sound. It's doubtful that the adult Leah has called you to make small-talk. You already know she's doing well from the snippet of information her father gave you earlier.

"Er, fine...thanks. But this is actually about my dad. I take it you saw him today?"

You wonder how much she knows. There's no point in lying to her.

"I did. It...didn't end well."

"I gathered as much."

"He didn't tell ye?"

"Not half as much as you just did," she says carefully. And considering you haven't said much about it at all, _now_ you understand what she's hinting at. She doesn't know a thing about your encounter with Steven.

"Brendan, if I ask you something will you promise to give me an honest answer?"

You don't hesitate in your agreement. It's strange, but even though you're sure your absence mustn't have done any damage to Leah's life, you still feel like you owe her for the disruption you caused during those few months you were involved in it.

"Do you love my dad?" she asks bluntly.

Of _course_ you do; you've told him so once already today. But something tells you that Steven's daughter needs to hear it from you herself. Maybe the faith she had in you as a child depends on it.

"I do," you say into the phone, the conviction in your voice even greater than it was when the man himself was standing in front of you today. "I love him very much."

Leah lets out a breath at the sound of your words, and then blurts out another question - although it's more of a demand. "Then why the hell are you letting him go again?"

Stunned, and unable to come up with a good enough reason, you stumble over what you eventually do say next. "He wanted to go, I...I couldn't stop him," you explain weakly.

"Maybe you didn't try hard enough!" she blasts, and you wince. Not at the volume, but because she's right. "I thought you were_ Brendan Brady_. What happened to him, eh? If you really loved Dad that much then you'd fight for him."

"Leah, please." You never expected a lecture from her. It's making your head spin. You're getting a strong idea of what she must have been like as a stroppy teenager. "It's not that simple. I tried going after him, but I'm too late."

"No you're not." She seems calmer again; as if she's just remembered she's a grown woman shouting at an old man. "He text me about half an hour ago saying he's at the airport waiting for a flight home. The next one's not for another hour."

Momentarily you mull that information over. "He doesn't want me any more, sweetheart," you say gently. "I know he still loves me as much as I love him, but I can't make him _happy_."

You immediately know you've aggravated Leah again by the way her tone changes.

"Well you certainly didn't make him any happier by abandoning him, did you?"

A knot twists in your stomach. "He had Douglas," you offer quietly.

She sighs impatiently. "I loved him as much as anybody else in this family, but Doug was always second best to you, Brendan. Dad knew it, Doug knew it and so do you. So if my dad really means as much to you as you do to him, then you'll go and tell him that right now."

You look up and around you for the first time since answering the phone. You remember the way he'd looked as he'd declared his feelings for you after all those years apart.

You have two choices. Either you can continue on down the road to Cheryl's and pretend this phone call never happened, or you can get yourself to Dublin airport to fight for Steven.

"Okay," you say into the phone. "Okay, I'll find him."

* * *

_~ Leah ~_

Leah hung up the phone and sat frozen in place for several minutes at the kitchen table. She had officially turned into her mother - somebody who just couldn't help but intervene.

Ironically, though, she and her mum _weren't_ on the same page this time.

Amy had tried tirelessly to talk Ste out of going to see Brendan, but he had already set his mind on it. It just hadn't been up for discussion.

Leah knew all about her father's past with this man. Her mother had filled her in one night after Doug's death and a lot of wine.

She had never forgotten about the moustachioed man who had once, for a short time, been a part of her family, but no one had talked about Brendan up until then. She often wondered whether that was out of respect for Doug, or because it was just too painful a subject for her father.

But to her, Brendan wasn't a cold-blooded murderer - even though, of course, he _had_ actually killed people. He was the missing piece of her dad; the hole that had been ripped out of his heart back when she was far too young to understand why.

Most people would think what she had just done was completely insane. She had just shouted at a convicted killer, after all.

Most people didn't know this particular ex-convict, though.

It was Leah's happiest memories of him that had jolted her into action, and her Auntie Cheryl had been only too happy to pass on Brendan's number.

Picking up the phone again now, she dialled a familiar number, suddenly needing an ally to confide in.

"Katy, it's me. You won't believe what I've just done..."

* * *

_~ Ste ~_

Your flight is delayed. All you want is to get out of Ireland and forget you ever returned here, and now you're looking at the possibility of bedding down in the bloody _airport_.

You wish you'd listened to Amy. And you know things must really be bad if you're willing to admit she was right.

With a resigned sigh, you fish your phone out from your pocket to text Leah again, this time to inform her that you'll have an even longer wait to get home than you'd first thought.

Before you can, though, you notice that you've missed a call from Cheryl.

You dial your voice-mail and lift the phone to your ear, but seconds later a voice chimes out over the tannoy. You've got no chance of hearing your message over this, so you hang up and wait for what you assume will be a standard airline announcement.

Only, after a few flight mentions, the speaker leaves a short pause before her last announcement.

"This is a customer notice. Could a _Steven Hay_ please come to the ticket desk. That's Mr Steven Hay to the ticket desk. Thank you."

Panic floods through you, and you desperately try to work out what kind of flight-related complication you're about to face.

You can think of nothing.

When you reach the desk some minutes later, the staff aren't waiting to talk to you at all. Instead, your attention is directed towards someone standing your side of the desk.

You turn to your right, and your breath catches in your throat.

What is it about this man? Why couldn't he find you himself like a _normal_ person?

Maybe because he's never been normal.

"Steven," says Brendan, leaning casually against the counter. His voice is cautious, though.

As well it should be.

"What?" you manage, tensing even more when you notice the woman behind the desk, who seems to be listening in. She must clock the look on your face, because in the next second she moves away, out of earshot.

Brendan is watching you, his face creased with concern. You wish he would stop looking at you like that; even if you're the one causing his discomfort in the first place.

"Well?" you say irritably. "Are you going to tell me why you've just made me run through the airport under false pretences?"

"Ye know why."

"Because you can't handle the fact that I had the last word?"

His mouth curves in a half-smile at your blatant attempt to mock him - the man you once knew inside out.

"Because I can't live the rest of my life without ye," he corrects. Your head is filled with the vivid memory of the first - and last - time Brendan said that to you. Back then, it had _meant_ something.

"I've heard that one before. But you've managed alright without me until now, haven't you."

He moves towards you, looks you straight in the eye. "That's because I haven't been living. No one lives life in a prison cell, Steven. All ye can do is exist."

There's a sarcastic response on the tip of your tongue: "_rehearse that while you were inside, did you?"_

But it goes unsaid when he suddenly leans closer and holds your face in his hands.

It's like an electric shock to your skin.

"Don't touch me!"

Brendan lets go instantly, his hands dropping limply to his sides. There's a part of you that wants to take it back, to demand that he holds you again and never lets go.

But the rest of you, that ever-present angry part of you that can't help rejecting him now - just can't cope with his touch after so long. He can't just stand there and do _that_, as if he's never been away from you.

"Steven?"

You look up again to find that he's watching you anxiously yet again. Your conflicting emotions must show on your face.

"Why couldn't you just let me go?" you ask weakly, and Brendan stands rigid, as though he's really having to control himself from reaching out to you again.

He knows you're hurting. Even to your own ears, you've not sounded this fragile in years.

"I almost did," Brendan admits now, and you just about stop yourself from barking out another sarcastic response to that.

"So what changed your mind?" you say instead.

"I spoke to Leah."

You don't understand. You can't seem to connect his words with real life. _How_ can Brendan have spoken to _Leah_?

"What?"

"She called me just as I was walking back from the bridge," he explains. "I went to look for ye there, assumed I was too late to catch ye. Then suddenly your Leah was on the phone, giving me an ear-bashing. Takes after that mother of hers, that one."

You don't know how you feel about this revelation. Not the fact that Leah takes after Amy, obviously; you'd known that since her teenage years and, besides, she was hardly going to take after you, was she?

No, it's the way your daughter has taken matters into her own hands and contacted _Brendan,_ of all people. That's what you can't get your head around. Even though the very idea of it is, of course, a classic Amy Barnes trait. Pure interference.

"What did she say?"

Brendan pauses, keeping his eyes level with yours. Poised to listen to his answer, you find yourself studying the few flecks of colour that still remain in his moustache.

"She told me to man up and find ye, before ye walked out of my life for good," he informs you.

You have nothing to offer in reply. Not yet. Yes, he's found you; but the result is still pending.

"Look, Steven, I know this is never going to be good enough, and there will never be enough time for me to make it up to ye. I know there are probably still a million things I don't know about your life since I left it."

You think about everything Brendan's missed; the amount of times you've needed him desperately, or simply just wanted him with you. Even if you were willing to tell him, you don't know where you'd start.

"I can't promise to be everything ye deserve," he continues. "But I _can_ promise that if ye'll have me, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to give ye the happy ending ye were supposed to have."

You feel your eyes starting to sting with tears. They're uncharacteristically beautiful words coming from Brendan. The intensity of his promise takes you back to that last day in Chez Chez, when he'd bared all his demons to you and, for a short time afterwards, the only thing left to face had been your future together.

You want that hope back again, even though any future you have with him won't be the same thing you pictured when you were twenty-three.

All the energy you've put into hating him is starting to wash away.

Brendan has been standing close to you for the past few minutes, but now, in the wake of his speech, he takes a few steps back.

You miss the heat from his body immediately, hadn't realised the effect it was having on you until the second it disappeared. It's a wonder the burst of desire hasn't crippled your ageing body, because you haven't felt it on this level with anyone else since him.

You look at his face - pale under the weight of uncertainty for your next move - and before your brain has time to change it's mind, you're launching forward and flinging your arms around him.

It takes him no time at all to recover, and within seconds his own arms are encircling you.

You forget yourself. You forget where you are and even what you were doing before this moment.

Later, you'll remember this moment and consider the fact that the building could have been on fire, and the pair of you still wouldn't have noticed a thing.

* * *

_~ Brendan ~_

You find yourself saying things to Steven that you never expected yourself capable of saying out loud. Even thinking back to that night in Dublin, this little monologue feels...momentous.

Or at least it _could_ be, if it were to make a difference.

You've made him a promise. You think it's the most genuine promise you've ever made him. Only, now you're beginning to feel self-conscious. He doesn't reply, and you're on the point of preparing yourself to leave him alone for good.

And then suddenly he's in your arms.

You don't waste any more time, wrapping him close against your body and inhaling his scent. Everything about it feels the same as the last time you held him. You remember a time when you were too scared to do this. Now the only thing you're scared of is never being this close to him again.

He breaks away when the speaker blares out, announcing another flight that's ready for boarding.

It's Steven's flight.

"Don't go," you plead, and he sighs, long and deep.

"I have to," he replies, and yet again you think: _that's it then, it's over. Done._ Until he finishes the sentence. "That return ticket cost me a fortune!"

And somehow, miraculously, he's grinning at you.

On that smile alone you would quite happily jump on the plane with him. But you need to get back to Declan. You _want _to get back to see Declan. Besides, why would you want to go back to Chester, where there's the very real possibility of coming face to face with a fire-breathing Amy Barnes?

The last call sounds for the flight to Liverpool, and Steven leans in to peck you on the cheek, lingering for a moment longer than most people would.

"Bye, Brendan."

And from the kiss right down to those last two words, he's so calm and casual in comparison to how he was before that you begin to worry all over again. Were these last few minutes simply closure for him?

"Steven?" your voice pitches embarrassingly in your panic to stop him. "Are ye...?" You're not really sure how to end the question. '_Are you coming back?' 'Are you really going to leave me?' _There's so much more to say, and the thought of this being the last chance is killing you.

It's his eyes you notice first when he turns around and smiles at you again. They're telling you everything you need to know.

This is not the end.


End file.
